Snakes and Ladders
by IEatBooksForTea
Summary: Betty Cooper had always imagined herself a princess. Little did she know that her prince would wear a beanie for a crown and use a ladder as a steed. A oneshot in which Betty realises she's been waiting for Jughead all along.


**Synopsis:** Betty Cooper had always imagined herself a princess. Little did she know that her prince would wear a beanie for a crown and use a ladder as a steed.

 **Genre:** Drama/Romance

 **Pairing:** Betty/Jughead

 **Rating:** K+

 **A/N:** I wrote a thing.

* * *

Betty Cooper had always imagined herself a princess.

The walls of her bedroom were the smothering confines of a looming tower. The bricks of her home were a living mess of treacherous vines. And the sole block of sunshine, trapped by her window, was her only hope of escape.

She'd used to lean out the window, gushed by the sweeping height of her child-like tower, waving down with glee at the prince who had come to save her. Her gaze had swept up. Tips of spires pierced the sky. Raindrops dangled from nearby clouds. Vines crawled and creaked. She let her fingers reach down and graze her fingertips against their leaves.

"I'll save you, Princess!" he'd yelled, having ventured from the far away land of the next house over. His young, pale hand had squeezed the wooden stick like the sword it was, slicing through poisonous plants and splintering through stalks. On his head he'd worn a crown of blazing hair like fire he'd seized from a distant king.

Swept away like the dangling curls of her golden hair, she'd giggled with glee, reaching down for him as he stretched up, their fingertips a million inches and a thousand acres apart. They had slipped away. He had fallen back down to the ground.

He just a little too small and just a little less bold. And not brave enough to clamber up the vines to reach her.

She had slumped back, collapsing over her window ledge, resigned to merely catching clouds and waiting for them to fall in her swirling, looming tower. She would have to wait until her prince was tall enough and brave enough to reach her.

Now spires are simply chimneys and vines are merely bricks. Her tower is a home, her bedroom simply a place. And the clouds are much farther away.

Betty swings her heart about in her chest, her eyes searching themselves in the mirror.

By the time her prince had grown tall enough and brave enough, he hadn't wanted to save her anymore.

Her hopes had trickled away between broken bricks where vines used to swell. They had always been childish dreams and promises, a stick disguised as a sword. A bedroom disguised as a tower.

She slumps her shoulders, her head too heavy with the weight of the day. Thoughts of her parents and her sister and the weighted mystery of her town clouds her brain. She sags. She has never felt so disconnected from her family as she does now.

A gentle thump raps on her window pane.

She halts, her gaze jumping to it. The mere sight of him jolts a smile to her lips.

"Hey there, Juliet," he murmurs as she cranks open the window. He's propped up by a ladder, gallant and brave and, seemingly, resourceful. "Nurse off duty?"

The sky drips with liquid colours. Framed in front of it, he leans himself against the posts of the ladder, lips detailed with cracked lines, a reminder of the past few days. He gazes up at her and her body warms with bemusement and relief. He smiles. There's an instance of familiarity in his eyes, a haunting of possibilities.

How had she never realised how comfortable she'd grown with him?

She steps back. There's enough in her eyes to encourage him to climb in.

And as he does, all her confused, chaotic thoughts tumble in with him.

"They're crazy," she scoffs, the words falling out of her mouth. Her voice is a tone of disbelief, her thoughts a tangled mess in her head. "My parents are crazy."

She should have known that from the start. A princess in a tower is never void of dragons.

"They're parents," he breathes behind her, experience breathing out with it. A statement of truth. "They're all crazy."

The knots in her brain strain tighter and tighter. It is a shamble of words, her mouth the organ in which she spews them. They fall like the sharp daggers they are.

"No, but what if-" her voice cracks with bewilderment. "What if Polly is too? The way she was talking to me, the way she _looked_ at me."

He hovers behind her. She can feel his presence, a lingering, serene warmth. She never realised how much she need him here. Someone to pin all these concerns to.

Not just someone. Just he who would understand.

"And now all I can think is," the words spill like sour milkshake from her tongue, "maybe I'm _crazy_ like they are."

"Hey," he catches her instantly by the shoulders, his mere touch soothing her. A calming breath eases out of her, her thoughts suddenly feeling less tight. The knots loosen. "We're all crazy."

She lifts her eyes to him as if she'll find a wisdom there.

Instead she sees a crown.

"We're not our parents, Betty," he insists, his voice soft yet tousled. There's a perceptiveness that lingers in it. "We're not our families."

Her eyes are searching his. She feels reality toying with her.

"Also-" his voice catches.

Had she never noticed it before? How simply logical he is, how easily real he is. How, despite everything she'd ever imagined, he had never had to wield a stick-swords or climb tangled vines. Or chase after childish dreams.

"What?" she quizzes him, eyeing him slowly, playfully.

No. He hadn't needed those things.

"What?" she breathes again, this time feeling his gaze dip.

All he'd needed was a ladder.

And the want to save her.

Then he's moving forward. And he's catching her in his palms. And, like the prince is always supposed to, he wakes her up with a kiss.

As their lips move together as if they'd never been apart, she forgets. She forgets about the tower and the boy with the fire hair. She forgets about wooden weapons and trapping vines.

And most of all, she forgets about a prince.

Their lips slowly part. A long sigh escapes into the space between them.

Her knots untangle. Her brain clears.

Her lips feel the lightness of an effortless smile.

After all this time, she hadn't been waiting for a prince.

She'd been waiting for a king.

Amused at her own stupidity, her eyes warm at the sight of him. Jughead, the boy with charcoal for hair and ladder for sword.

And the one wearing a crown all along.


End file.
